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Poetry By Gloria del Vecchio

Aaron

I seea pair of breasts attached to a chair.I dreamed my violin in its case was a childlying in a coffin.never have I wanted to run away so badly;I saw a light behind me and knew there wassomeone searching through a dense garden.Aaron, take my marble flowers, take them homein November, wrapped in white ribbons for thepretty king; and the royal court looks for your blossoms,looks for your blossoms, looks for the past, looks forthe naked boy isolated by time. I seea pair of breasts attached to a chair. he is behind dark twigs wheretransparent birds perch, therethe breast of one universe is offered to an infant of another.oh yellow leaves that fall on dark brown hair, hairfalling over the back of a chair . . .ah, Aaron, suspended between two towers, yougive me everything but tenderness,blue eyes silent above the flames reaching out ofthe green elegance of the forest,you withhold yourself continually.small birds rise, copper-colored in the smoketo fly over cold stones far away.I sit naked in a chair surrounded by a circleof fire. You have left me unapproachable.the world and its clouds move under you . . .Aaron, open the door to a million pearls into a room with a large mound ofspices in the middle of the floor, an ancienttemple room where long fingernails thrust out from theceiling and walls . . . there, people tell you to die.there, Aaron hates you when you would love him.I remember his eyes on the face inside you; I rememberthe distorted genitals; I remember the child in the mirror. I seea pair of breasts attached to a chair. I try to be insideyou and feel your neediness. I try to live withambivalences. I walk near a series of wells besidea wall and see the beautiful sneering children whocarry their pouches of grievances before their faces; and,still Aaron, I feel your crying teeth in my back.Aaron of the orange trees,not enough dreams and fantasies, notenough time for rituals, nor for dawnsand other miracles . . .when I am with you, somethingruptures, I am afraid.run down the hill where the dead undress.what does it matter?Aaron saw the woman removing her strange gownof silence.

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